


Breaking Up Is Hard To Do

by aerye



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Sibling Incest, season eight spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-16
Updated: 2013-09-16
Packaged: 2017-12-26 17:38:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/968566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aerye/pseuds/aerye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean decides it's in Sam's best interests to break up with him. Sam doesn't quite see it that way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breaking Up Is Hard To Do

**Author's Note:**

> I did not watch _Supernatural_ Season Eight very closely, so this may diverge from canon.

It's about two months after the angels fall when the thought first occurs to him: it's time to set Sam free, to let him go.

They've been together over a decade, since Sammy was sixteen—with occasional interruptions for running away from home, college, death, hell, purgatory, consorting with a demon, and loss of a soul.

It wasn't like all relationships didn't have problems, Dean told himself.

Still, there'd never really been anybody for him but Sam, but Amelia was clear proof that there could be someone else— _better_ —for Sam than Dean, if Dean could just make himself get out of the way.

And he could, and would, but before he could make his move they heard about an outbreak of zombies in northern Montana, and they couldn't very well ignore that, even if—as Sam noted—their diet was primarily Republican (to which Dean nodded agreeably without much of an opinion. Dean had never voted in his life but somehow Sam made it a point to come up with a valid—well, for varying degrees of valid—voter registration in whatever place they were whenever there was a major election). But fact was there was a job, and Dean knew better than to mess with _status quo_ during a job, so they road tripped it to Montana and hunted some zombies, escaped the usual near death encounter, and exchanged blowjobs in the shower. Dean decided to wait until they got home to talk to Sam.

Except then it was Sammy's birthday, and Dean didn't know diddly about relationships but he did know you didn't break up with someone on their birthday, whether it was in their best interests or not. So he baked Sam a cake (having a well-equipped kitchen was a real plus) that turned out pretty good (if a little uneven), and gave him some fancy new tips for his fountain pen (Sam was really into that Men of Letters thing). That night in bed Sam took him apart, piece by piece, and in the back of his mind he chanted, _remember this, remember this_ , until he just couldn't think anymore.

The next morning he looked at himself hard in the mirror as he shaved, and told himself that it was time to stop fucking around, that he needed to do what he needed to do—that Sam had a life out there waiting for him that he wasn't going to start looking for until Dean let go—and he threw a knife at the calendar to pick a date, which he circled about five times in red. He snarled at Sam when Sam asked him about it, and started counting down the days grimly.

The morning of The Day he decided that it only made sense to wait to talk to Sam until that evening—that way he could retreat to his room and lick his wounds after it was over. As the day went on, though, he got more and more tense, thinking about it, and finally about three he cracked open a bottle of Jack, reasoning that a loose and relaxed approach was the best way to go. It was important that Sam not think letting go would hurt Dean—that was _critical_ or Sam might hang on to what they were just to please Dean. And that wouldn't do either of them any good.

Except the "looser" he got, the more it seemed to entertain Sam, who finally pressed him up against the wall, whispering, "you are sooo drunk," in his ear while he stripped them both of their clothing. It took forever to get to the bed and Sam's mouth was everywhere, and the chanting was back in his head, louder and more urgent this time. Being drunk made it hard to come, but more fun getting there. Sam was still laughing at him the next morning, as he buried his face in a cup of coffee the size of his head.

A day later, just as Dean was feeling less green around the gills, came the case with the sex magic. And when Dean woke up, lying naked in the circle of pixie dust and covered with Sam's come, he told himself that enough was enough. The minute they stepped back into the bunker, he would tell Sam.

And it was a good plan, as far as it went. They got back and took turns in the shower—pixie dust was a lot like sand, when it came to getting it stuck in inconvenient places—and then Dean made them both sandwiches with two different kinds of meat, and plenty of lettuce, tomato, and mayo. 

It was time to talk.

"Sam—"

"Aren't you going to eat that?" Sam asked, nodding to the sandwich still on Dean's plate, even as he finished his in a half dozen gigantic bites. There was a trace of milk on his upper lip, and Dean felt his gut clench when he thought about how much he wanted to lick it away, and how he would never do anything like that ever again.

"No, you can have it." Dean pushed his plate Sam's way. "Listen, Sam."

"Mmm." Sam chewed for a second. "What's up?"

"Look, it's like this." Dean hesitated, then shoved his chair back and got up, starting to pace. "I've been thinking, and y'know—I'm thinking that it's time maybe you and I—"

"Time you and I what?" Sam asked, when Dean fell silent.

"Well, I mean— Okay, it's like this. We've got the bunker now, right? Sort of a—a home base?"

Sam frowned. "Yeah—"

"And I know we haven't stopped doing jobs or anything, but we're not on the road twenty-four seven like we used to be, right? I mean, you have your own room— _I_ have my own room—and I know it's not like our lives are ever going to be _normal_ or anything but they could be, well," he gestured vaguely between the two of them, "less _un-normal_."

"Abnormal."

"What?"

"The word you're looking for is abnormal. 'Un-normal' isn't really a word." Sam was still frowning.

"Oh. Okay. So anyway, what I'm thinking here is, that—well, Sam, you got choices now, right? I mean, you could go out there and meet somebody, somebody nice, and I know we're not talking a ranch-style house and white picket fence but you could have a normal relationship with a nice girl, maybe even a kid or two, and I just think—"

"Wait. Dean, are you breaking up with me?"

"See! See, this is what I mean! You're my brother Sam! Brothers don't talk about 'breaking up.' We just—we grew up different, okay, and maybe we got up to some things that most brothers don't—"

"I think the word you're searching for is incest, Dean—"

"—but we don't have to be like that anymore, right? We—we can be settled, sort of, and you can find someone you love and want to be with, right? Someone normal?"

"What if I don't want someone normal?"

"What?"

"What if I love you and want to be with you?" Sam demanded.

"No, see—that's what I'm saying. You got _choices_ now, Sam. You and me, it was just because you didn't know any bet—love?"

Sam smirked. "You idiot," he said fondly.

"Wait. You're saying you love me?"

"You're sure you aren't hungry?" Sam asked, reaching for the other half of Dean's neglected sandwich without waiting for Dean to answer.

"You're saying you love me," Dean said wonderingly, then said it again, demanding clarity. "You _are_ saying you love me."

Sam nodded, his mouth full.

"Not like a brother."

Sam shook his head, then stopped and swallowed. "Well, actually—" he began.

" _Sam._ "

"Well you are my brother, Dean. So—yeah, I love you like a brother, but it's more than that. I love you; you're my choice."

"You love me," Dean repeated. 

"Uh-huh." Sam smiled. "Sorry." He shrugged. "I thought you knew that."

"No—well, yeah, I knew you loved me but I didn't think you _loved_ me," Dean said.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Okay, well, good. As long as we've got that clear. You didn't make any pie, by any chance, did you?"

"Shut up." Dean shoved him back in his chair and straddled his lap.

Sam smiled again, closing his hands on him. "Make me."


End file.
